


Son of a -

by letmehavanickname



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Adorable Hamilton, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Grumpy Burr, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sarcasm, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 13:42:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8535391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letmehavanickname/pseuds/letmehavanickname
Summary: They fight/drama/tension. Basically an entire fic revolving around Hamilton annoying Burr into kissing him (again). I'd say read at your own risk, but who're we kidding? You guys have probably seen so much worse by this point. This is actually pretty tame.





	1. Chapter 1

It was late on a Friday afternoon, Aaron Burr had just finished the last of four back-to-back meetings and, what with the final one having run on far longer than he’d expected, was now looking forward to a well-deserved break. However, the moment he caught sight of a restless Alexander Hamilton leaning against the wall; the very picture of arrogance, Burr knew his hopes of getting any time to himself had been completely dashed.

From where Burr was stood, he could see the kid fidgeting with the clasp of his lanyard and fleetingly examining every passer-by with equal intensity – no doubt looking for him. From his agitated demeanour, it wouldn’t be out of line to assume he was currently in the middle of a great personal crisis. Aaron Burr groaned and cursed every god he could think of, knowing all too well how much this both was and wasn’t the case. 

Just as he was silently deliberating turning heel and using another of the building’s exits, Hamilton locked eyes with him. It was such good timing that Burr caught himself wondering whether the man had installed some form of internal notification system that alerted him to his current whereabouts. At this point he honestly wouldn’t be surprised.

The kid’s impatient expression broke into a huge grin upon spotting the now severely pissed off lawyer. 

“Aaron Burr, sir! What’s the matter? No greeting for your old buddy?”

Burr glared at Hamilton. That scrawny, strong-willed, interfering bastard. Of course he wouldn’t just let things run their natural course. Of course the kid would find an opportunity to open his goddamn mouth and talk. He hated him from the very top of his ponytail to the treads of his patent leather shoes. 

As for Hamilton’s question, Burr prided himself on always knowing what to say, but found - to his own irritation - that he didn’t have an answer ready. As of the past month, he’d been spending most of his free time actively avoiding Hamilton – and this ‘chance’ meeting was putting an enormous strain on his plans to continue doing just that.

Not that Hamilton, judging by the way he excitedly launched himself off the wall and into a continuous unbroken stream of dialogue, intended to stop talking long enough for him to answer.

That self-centered, egotistical, son of a –

“I know you’re probably _busy_ Burr, and that you’ve been busy, we’ve all been busy. I mean, I’ve spent this past month buried in paperwork, drafting reports like crazy, trying to rally enough supplies to kick-start this revolution. Did you know that Washington is working with a third of what our congress has promised? A third! It’s insane! But anyway, I’m getting off topic. I get the feeling that you’re upset with me.” 

Burr cleared his throat and evened out his expression - or tried his best to. To his extreme personal dismay, one of Hamilton’s many talents centered around seeing through his calm exterior and relentlessly chipping away at any notion of a calm _interior_. 

“Hamilton, as good as it is to see you, I really do have to run. I’m late for a meeting.” 

He turned to make a swift exit, but found his path briskly and expertly blocked by Hamilton, it was a move that by now Burr supposed he’d had plenty of opportunities to perfect.

“Burr!” Hamilton’s voice took on a petulant whine. “Can’t we talk about what happened like sensible adults?” 

Sighing to himself whilst inwardly evaluating his chances of successfully outrunning Hamilton, Burr glanced at his watch. He hadn’t been lying about the meeting but he wasn’t as late as he’d let on, not by another fifteen hours at least. 

But the exit was so close, _excruciatingly_ close considering his current situation. Burr cursed himself for not having the forethought to leave the building earlier. It’d been nearing a month now, of course Hamilton was bound to show up. Perhaps if he hadn’t stopped to use the bathroom he would’ve gotten away clean – he knew spending five dollars on that one cup of coffee this morning would come back to bite him. 

Throughout their exchange Burr had made doubly sure not to meet his gaze. Hamilton had a way of injecting an unprecedented amount of sincerity into just about every word he uttered. It made saying no to him a monumental task. Not one for exaggeration of any form, Burr felt completely justified in the belief that just one glance into Hamilton’s eyes would spell game over for his plan to escape a free man. It didn’t help that those eyes were currently fixed to his face like a searchlight.

“I really have to get going.” He made no move to leave though.

Hamilton noticed this and smirked. 

“Does your body know that?” He didn’t pause, spewing forth his words in his usual rushed manner of speaking and leaving no room for a response. 

“Anyway Burr, I don’t think you’d leave even if you wanted to. I think that you’re just too damn smitten with me to even consider walking away right now.”

That was brazen even by his standards. And what made his words so ironic was that they basically summed up the reason why Burr had been avoiding him. 

They’d shared a moment, just the two of them, a couple weeks back – another ‘chance’ meeting; this time in a library during the early hours of the morning. Burr had been up doing last minute preparation for a trial he had scheduled for the following afternoon and Hamilton claimed he’d come out for a change of scenery. Never mind the fact that this particular library wasn’t anywhere close to Hamilton’s apartment and also just happened to be where Burr spent most of his time these days.

Cramped and dusty, smelling like equal amounts of must and perspiration, Burr would never have viewed a library as a good spot for anything even bordering on romantic, but low and behold, that was when another of Hamilton’s talents made a surprise appearance. 

Burr’s eyes flashed dangerously, “Don’t doubt for a second, Alexander, that I couldn’t leave this place right now and never look back.”

“Ooh, I’m _Alexander_ now am I?” The grin was back. 

Burr’s hands rolled into fists as he tried to keep the anger at bay. Goddamn Hamilton’s ability to get under his skin. “I’m warning you. Don’t push me.”

“That’s a lot of _don’ts_ , Aaron. Tell me, what would you like to _do_?” 

Burr’s eyes flew to Hamilton’s in shock. If the suggestive implications of this question weren’t already apparent, the evocative tone Hamilton voiced it in certainly left few things to the imagination.

Another jolt came in the form of spatial awareness. It seemed that for the duration of the conversation, Hamilton had been inching closer to the point that they now stood practically nose to nose – one man unbearably smug and the other on the verge of punching him.

It was then as if a light had been switched back on that Burr became aware of the strange looks they were beginning to attract from the people passing on either side of them. Burr knew that he was in danger of allowing Hamilton to goad him into starting a full blown public incident, and in the middle of a crowded courthouse no less. He’d had enough. Taking control of the situation, he dragged Hamilton none-too-gently by the arm into a nearby, mercifully empty room, all the while tuning out Hamilton’s indignant protests.

As soon as the door thudded shut, Burr rounded on him.

“What the hell are you playing at? I work here. I can’t just walk around getting into screaming matches whenever I feel like it.”

“Well it’s not like we could speak anywhere else! You refuse to take my calls; I visit your house and you’re never in! Why are you being so stubborn?”

Burr almost laughed out loud in disbelief. “ _I’m_ being stubborn? Hamilton, you are the human embodiment of stubbornness! You’re insatiable! You never take no for an answer. For god’s sake, you refuse to even acknowledge the possibility that maybe I’m intentionally avoiding you for a reason.”

In his agitation, Hamilton had begun to pace. “Burr! You really are an arrogant son of a bitch –”

Burr had had enough. He refused to stand to the side and listen to his character being mercilessly assassinated in yet another of Hamilton’s moronically impassioned speeches. Before he could gather enough common sense to stop himself, he’d charged over to Hamilton in three swift strides and had him pinned roughly against the wall in another two.

“I really recommend that you shut your mouth for once in your goddamn life.”

Burr was the stronger of the two and they both knew it, but Burr also knew that Hamilton would be damned if he let something as trivial as physical strength come between him and his pride.

True to form, Hamilton made a show of forcibly shoving Burr away. It barely even impacted. Hamilton flew at him and they scuffled for a while longer, with Hamilton throwing the first punch and Burr managing to get a few hits of his own in.

Whilst Burr found himself deliberately pulling his punches, he got the impression that Hamilton was using every ounce of his strength, which besides making for a scrappy adversary, didn’t do much by the way of real damage and the two of them eventually broke apart, panting on opposite sides of the small room.

Burr’s face ached a little from where some of Hamilton’s punches had landed, but otherwise he felt fine. Looking at the kid though, he saw that perhaps he’d not gone as easy on him as he’d thought. There was a livid bruise forming on his cheek and a thin cut above his eyebrow. Not only that, but Hamilton’s usually bright and enthused countenance had been replaced by a cold bravado. He was now on the defensive, monitoring Burr for signs of further attack.

Burr was surprised at how much this bothered him. As much as he sometimes despised Hamilton, he found that he didn’t want to hurt him and he certainly didn’t want the kid to be afraid of him – mistrust, in their profession at least was often inescapable, but actual fear, the kind in his eyes right now? He hated the idea.

In the reduced light of the judge’s chambers, away from prying eyes, Burr finally allowed himself to take a closer look at the infuriating man in front of him. He looked exhausted. Dark shadows lined the underneath of his eyes and he was trembling slightly from the recent adrenaline high of their fight. Burr felt a pang of guilt. How he hadn’t taken note of Hamilton’s physical condition before this moment was beyond him. The usually jittery, but indistinguishable flame that was Alexander Hamilton had been momentarily doused and to Burr, he just looked like a kid worn thin.

_Back in the library, all those weeks ago, straining against the pull of sleep, sat upright amidst the crinkle of turning pages, it had first struck him. The past few days had flown by in a flurry of paperwork and deadlines and so much court, he’d barely had time to take stock of the days passing, and suddenly it was 3 am and there was Alexander._

Without speaking, Burr moved cautiously towards the younger man. Hamilton was still scrutinizing him, but their fight, however brief, had sapped most his energy, leaving him leaning against the wall for support, his chest heaving.

He reached out, wanting to see the extent of the damage but Hamilton recoiled, his eyes bright with distrust. Burr frowned. The kid opened his mouth to say something but was beaten to it.

“I’m not going to hit you; you look like crap. Let me see.”

_It was late, Burr was exhausted and it had struck properly him for the first time just how attractive Alexander Hamilton was. It was his eyes mostly, they had a certain warmth, a peculiar pull. They’d exchanged pleasantries; Burr, expressing his skepticism at Hamilton’s thinly veiled excuse to see him, and Hamilton laying his accusations to bed with an easy smile. Under the amber light, the two became entombed in the strange intimacy that arises from being one of very few people left awake._

Hamilton hesitated for a split-second and then shrugged his compliance – a reaction Burr hadn’t been expecting. Where was the outrage, the righteous indignation he had seen only moments ago? The man slumped before him seemed completely drained.

Troubled by this, Burr forgot about assessing his injuries for the time being.

“Alexander, look at me.” He waited for the dark brown eyes to meet his own. “Are you okay?”

He received another shrug followed by a half-hearted – “I’m totally fine.”

_By the time the clock struck four, Burr was helpless. Hamilton’s frantic charm, his easy grace, that smile, those eyes. That man didn’t take hostages. Chest-to-chest, two hearts pounding against one another, echoing like gunshots, breaking the silence, breaking the silence, breaking -_

“Bull. You’re still shaking.” Burr raised an eyebrow, his own adrenaline rush had faded quickly. “When was the last time you slept – or ate for that matter? And if you shrug again so help me god I’ll remove your arm.”

Hamilton smirked. “But then I’d just shrug using my other arm.”

There was a long pause. “Hamilton.” He pressed, breaking –

_– the silence; it was louder now that it meant something. Burr fled, his breath clouding the chilly night’s air, his heart pounding a heavy drum solo in his chest. So, he liked Hamilton, so they’d kissed, so they’d almost done more...God, they’d almost…Burr had to think._

Hamilton shifted uncomfortably before clearing his throat and propelling headlong into speech.

“Okay so maybe I haven’t done either of those things for a while, but I’ve been so busy with work and you know, the revolution. I’ve been up most nights writing essays and doing paperwork. There’s not much time for eating or sleeping. But it’s completely fine, it’s more than fine. I have the chance to make real changes Burr, I’m not just messing around and so what if I lose a couple night’s sleep now and again as a result? If that’s the price I have to pay, then sign me –”

Rather than being interrupted by an exasperated Burr, Hamilton was instead cut off by a humongous yawn which he stifled into his shoulder before launching right back into his monologue without skipping a beat.

“– up, and what’s more…”

_Hamilton doesn’t hesitate. He takes and he takes and he takes, never stopping to think about the consequences. Burr doesn’t have that luxury; he can never not listen to the voice in his head telling him to wait for it, telling him to hit the brakes, telling him to get out while he still can. Of all the people on this goddamn planet… What crooked sense did it make to fall for Alexander Hamilton?_

Burr felt a surge of irritation. Of course, Hamilton would view being slumped against a wall in front of the person he’d provoked into a fist fight mere minutes ago a perfect opportunity to endorse the revolution. And obviously, the fool would have been working non-stop, not hesitating in the slightest to put something as significant as his health on the back-burner. Burr sighed.

“Hamilton, you’ve got to learn when to shut up. Now keep still and let me see your damn face already.”

Hamilton flashed him a wounded look. “I did but you insisted on checking that I was okay after you’d stopped unceremoniously trying to kill me.”

Burr rolled his eyes - trust Hamilton to play the pity card – though he felt a slight twinge of guilt all the same.

_No good could come of this. Burr shivered, pulling the collar of his coat up to protect against the chill. He stood for a moment watching the early morning commuters ghost their way through the city, a communal blur of red and white, light and dark. His breathing slowed to match his pace. Hamilton was a host unto himself, and if he had any sense whatsoever, Burr would forget all about him._

Placing both hands on his shoulders, he met Hamilton’s eyes, summoned all the courage he required and with great effort pushed his pride to the side.

“Alexander. For the record, I am sorry for losing my temper.”

Prompted by the smug smirk that Hamilton wasn’t even bothering to hide, he added in for good measure:

“That’s not saying you didn’t deserve it though, or even that I wouldn’t do it again if you gave me reason enough.”

_It was easier said than done. The events of that night lingered, they clung to him like smoke; he was constantly plagued by the absence of Alexander’s hands on his chest, his scent, his painful, moronic, overwhelming refusal to be anything less than mesmerizing…_

Hamilton broke out into an even bigger grin. “Please! Like you could take me.”

“Hamilton,” Burr groaned, “I just did. Now for the last time _where_ does it hurt?”

Hamilton begrudgingly let him inspect the bruises on his face, even if he seemed to think Burr was doing it just to get his kicks off technically winning their fight.

_Burr snapped out of a vivid daydream he’d been having of passionately screwing Hamilton’s brains out. He groaned, bringing his hands up to his head. How could one man be so fucking irritating? And without even needing to be in the same room?_

Not that Burr even knew himself why he cared so much. Hamilton was a humongous pain in the ass, and whilst he honestly thought he’d like nothing more than to see him put in his place, there was something almost immoral about being the one to do so. The aftermath was just unnatural.

Despite being younger than Burr by only a year or so, Hamilton’s impulsive and argumentative nature coupled with his innate scrawniness resulted in him being viewed as, to Burr at least, little more than a rather determined pest. This had only changed recently now that Hamilton possessed the rare and dangerous ability to make Burr lose all control. And just like everything else, he excelled at it.

From what he could see, his wounds were all superficial. They probably stung like a bitch, but he’d be fine. Not that Burr had any reason to fear otherwise.

Satisfied that he hadn’t caused any serious harm, Burr’s preoccupation switched to making a swift exit, but Hamilton, perhaps sensing this shift, reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“So why have you been hiding from me? Is it because I kissed you? Because Burr, most people would take it as a compliment that I’m into them instead of treating it like a full-on threat to their life.”

Under the usual boldness, Burr detected a faint note of hurt in his voice.

He yanked his arm away. “I wasn’t _hiding_ … and do we have to talk about this right now?”

Hamilton straightened up, some of his natural exuberance making a reappearance. “Yes! Yes, of course we do. I kissed you and you reciprocated so don’t act as though I’m the only one pushing for this when I know for a fact that you liked me enough to kiss me back!”

“Alexander, okay fine, we’ll talk. Just lower your voice.” He was working himself back up into one of his frenzies and if he didn’t calm down soon, they’d be unable to keep out of trouble.

There was another pause. Burr was grappling with what exactly he should say, not that there was any need because suddenly Alexander’s hands were on his face, gently tilting it to examine his cheek, his eyebrows creased in the middle. Burr’s heart leapt into his throat.

“What –?” He managed to croak out.

Hamilton couldn’t help the small smirk that slipped out at his reaction, but it was quickly smothered by the same expression. Burr recognized it as guilt.

“I didn’t mean to hit you so hard.”

How Burr managed to hear him over the manic thumping of his heart, he’ll never know.

“Yes you did.”

Alexander shot him a contrite look, which for him, Burr mused, was quite the feat.

“Okay, I totally did. But I’m still sorry.”

Hamilton went to move his hand away, only to have it gripped by Burr.

“No problem Alexander, but you’re still a bastard.”

Hamilton’s eyebrows shot up – signalling that he was undoubtedly about to say something infuriating, but Burr, deciding not to give _him_ the chance to respond for a change, grabbed him and kissed him before he could.

It was amazing how quickly everything else melted away, all the pettiness, their dumb squabbling; the only thing that mattered were his lips, those eyes, this heat and the feeling that this was how it was supposed to be. The kiss had started off gentle, one getting a feel for the other, but things escalated rapidly from there and Burr found himself slamming Hamilton against the wall in his enthusiasm. Alexander let out a moan and, far from being one to take a back seat, countered by spinning Burr around until he was the one being pinned. Smirking, Burr figured he’d let the kid have this round, and settled for seeing how many more times he could make Hamilton moan aloud.

They continued like this, only coming up for air every now and again, until suddenly without warning Hamilton placed both hands on Burr’s chest and pulled away.

More than a little disoriented by the abrupt lack of contact, it took Burr a couple seconds to realise that Hamilton was once again using the wall for support, with one hand braced there and the other raised to his head; both eyes scrunched up in pain.

“Alexander? Wha – are you okay?”

Squinting up at him, Hamilton grimaced. “I’m fine…I’m fine. Just gimme a minute…”

“Alexander –”

“It’s just a headache, it’ll pass in a couple of seconds.” He added, already knowing without needing to look that the lawyer was less than convinced.

Burr’s skepticism was validated when not three seconds later, Hamilton whimpered, dropping his head forward to rest on his chest in a last-ditch effort to dull the pain. Slightly taken aback by the extra weight, Burr wrapped his arms around the younger man’s frame, as, looking frantically around the room, he located the nearest seat - a small red sofa to the left of him – and guided Hamilton onto it as gently as possible.

“You know that this is exactly what happens when you don’t take care of yourself properly, right?” Burr chastised, lowering him down on the couch. He kept his voice soft, not knowing what would make his headache worse.

Hamilton groaned in response, curling into a ball. He looked so pitiful that Burr decided to postpone the lecture for the time being, instead kneeling beside him and, in lieu of any other bright idea, opting to play it Hamilton’s way and simply _wait for it to pass._

After around ten minutes of this, Hamilton’s headache finally paled to a more manageable throbbing, and he peeked out from under his arm at Burr, who was sprawled on the floor against the foot of the couch, wondering how he’d managed to get himself into such a ridiculous situation.

Burr, upon sensing movement in his peripheral, turned his head to see a sheepish Alexander Hamilton sat up watching him.

“How’s your head?”

“Not as terrible as it was before.”

“But still bad?” Burr surmised.

Alexander went to shrug, but upon seeing the death-glare Burr was aiming at him, wisely reconsidered. “Yeah.” He admitted.

Letting out a short sigh, Burr pushed himself to his feet. “C’mon, let’s get you home.”

They were almost out the door when Hamilton suddenly piped up, “Burr! You still are an arrogant son of a –

Burr shut him up with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You made it! Thanks for reading guys! I hope you had as much fun reading as I did writing it. Kind of, I mean objectively we all know that reading is easier than writing. I actually got kinda frustrated writing some parts of this... Now I've used the word writing too much.
> 
> Writing.
> 
> (Thanks again. Please let me know what you think!)
> 
> P.S - I've never actually used this website before, so the layout of this story may be slightly horrific to begin with. Bear with me. I really have no idea what I'm doing - I cannot stress that enough.


	2. Damned if you do, damned if you don't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Burr’s stomach was tight and heavy as he stood up and made his way over to Hamilton. He was in two minds about the decision he was about to make; simultaneously convinced that it was the single best and worst idea in the history of ideas. In short: damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

The exact moment that Burr turned around after closing the door to Alexander’s apartment coincided with the instant he seriously began re-evaluating every life decision he’d made leading up to this point.

Every surface in Hamilton’s living room was either completely or partially obscured by an item of clothing; socks, pants, t-shirts, underwear, you name it – some even taking on the silhouettes of the furniture they covered.

In the kitchen, dirty dish towels and stained mugs littered the few counter-tops that hadn’t been completely taken over by what looked like old newspaper cuttings (Burr didn’t even want to know) and, in the corner, producing a stench that could only be described as rotting food combined with the reek of poor time management, towered a myriad of dirty plates in an ironically neat pile, festering beside the sink.

And books! There were so many goddamn books. Dusty tomes ranging from David Hume’s 'Essays, Moral, Political, and Literary’, to Homer’s ‘The Odyssey’, to ‘Politics for Dummies’ were stacked in haphazard heaps all over the carpet.

Burr turned to Alexander in a daze, horror etched in every line on his face.

“Why in god’s name would you bring me here!?”

Hamilton at least had the decency to look abashed. He rubbed at the back of his neck.

“I forgot it had gotten this bad. I usually just tune it out.”

“Tune it … My god Alexander - _how are you still alive?”_

“My outstanding interpersonal skills?”

Shaking his head, Burr groaned, taking a moment to quell the blend of exasperated frustration that was fermenting inside of him. In all honesty, Burr had expected Hamilton’s apartment to be something of a mess, but nothing to this extent. How he managed to get anything done living like this was a mystery.

From the window directly facing them, Burr could see that the sun was ready to set, and Hamilton, noticing too, carefully waded through the piles of books to get at a lamp. He flicked the switch and the scene was thrown into orange relief.

Hamilton made his way over to a particularly large stack of books, and clearing space off a table, lifted five down and dropped them onto its surface. Burr, not too sure what Hamilton thought he was accomplishing, tracked his movements with a frown.

After another few seconds of this, Hamilton turned around with raised eyebrows.

“Well, are you going to just stand there or help me tidy?”

“I don’t know, Alexander. I haven’t decided whether or not to kill you yet.”

Hamilton grinned and chucked a pair of dirty underwear at him for good measure.

“Let me know what you decide.”

All in all, it took a good few hours to convert the dump of an apartment into something even vaguely resembling a hospitable living space. The two worked amicably alongside each other and had since lapsed into a comfortable enough silence. It was verging on midnight when Alexander unexpectedly let out a strangled yelp and dropped whatever he’d been holding. The item fell to the floor with a muffled thud.

Burr, who was sliding the last few hardbacks into Hamilton’s newly alphabetized bookshelf, spun around to see Alexander holding his hand to his chest and glowering mutinously down at a small, glass tiger.

“Did it bite you?” Burr teased, letting out a snort as Hamilton transferred his glare from the miniature tiger over to him.

“No…”

God, was Hamilton _pouting_? Burr felt a tug at his chest, he’d never admit how adorable Hamilton looked in that moment.

“Well then what?”

“I found it underneath all this junk. A piece must’ve smashed off… I sliced my finger on its ear or something.”

He brought his hand up, examining it in the light and allowing Burr to see that it was only a shallow cut. He suggested that Hamilton bandage it up.

Nodding absently, the younger man traipsed into the significantly tidier kitchen and rummaged halfheartedly through the drawer until he came across a box of band-aids. He took a good five minutes to extract the bandage from its plastic coating and another three to successfully apply it.

Burr, who had never seen Hamilton operate with anything less than his usual fervent upward velocity, found himself entertained by how lethargic the guy had become. Hamilton’s movements were listless and heavy-handed, and as if to further demonstrate his declining mental and physical awareness, the younger man, having gotten what he’d come for, thrust the drawer shut with a little too much gusto. The _crack_ of plastic against wood resonated throughout the kitchen and Hamilton didn’t even flinch. Burr supposed there was a sort of logic to it – Hamilton didn’t even half-ass exhaustion.

Moving to stand behind him, Burr placed both hands on his shoulders and smirked when Hamilton almost imperceptibly leant back into him. “You should get some sleep.”

Hamilton gave a little “hmm” in response and turned to shuffle to his room, leaving Burr to trail after him nursing the expectation that Hamilton’s bedroom would be as – if not a thousand times more – terrible than the two they’d just spent the past four hours blitzing. Instead, to Burr’s intense relief, this room (in comparison to the hellish outside), looked barely used. Of course, since this was a testament to how little Hamilton slept, he didn’t celebrate too much.

The room was of a decent size, with a queen-sized bed made neatly in the corner. This and the fact that the space was practically devoid of mess was what gave away just how rarely it was used. Burr cleared his throat as Hamilton began stripping down, seemingly having forgotten his presence.

“I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Hamilton frowned, tilting his head as if confused. “Why?”

“Because… I – well, we haven’t…”

Hamilton’s mouth fell open in mock-surprise. “Are you blushing, Burr?”

Burr growled.

“You are!”

Hamilton was still chuckling as he slid into bed.

“Turn off the light when you’re done being so precious, will you?

The morning streamed in through a gap in Hamilton’s curtains, a thin ray of sunshine shedding light directly onto Burr and his newfound situation. He'd _slept_ with Hamilton ... _Kind of._ Groaning, he squinted through his lashes, before settling for just covering both eyes with his arm.

He should get up, _he should really get up,_ but Hamilton was a warm weight beside him and Burr was too damn comfortable. Was Hamilton still asleep? What time was it? His stomach plummeted. Crap. _What time was it?!_

He had meetings today, he hadn’t set alarms. In a heartbeat, his comfortable position was forgotten, and with little disregard for not waking Hamilton, he leapt up and fumbled around frantically before extracting his phone from his coat pocket. _7:30._ He breathed a deep sigh of relief. 7:30. He had hours before his meeting. His heart was still pounding a mile a minute. Burr shook his head with a sigh. There’s nothing like the first heart attack of the morning to put a spring in your step.

Crisis averted, he turned back to the bed expecting to see Hamilton up and readily exuding some form of smugness, but the guy hadn’t even stirred. Burr raised his eyebrows, Hamilton must be exhausted, Burr had even fallen over at one point whilst trying to reach his phone.

He hesitated, unsure of what he was supposed to do. He was far too awake to be able to go back to sleep now, and he didn’t want to yank Hamilton out of what was clearly the only good night’s sleep he’d had in days. He could just leave… Damage control was probably the main thing he should place his focus on at this point, but frustratingly, it was also the last thing Burr wanted.

That really only left breakfast as an option.

The main issue with that plan was that Hamilton had no food. If the mountain of crumpled takeaway menus he’d spent half an hour clearing away last night were any indication, Hamilton usually ordered in. So, Burr decided to leave – to buy food.

Since Hamilton’s kitchen was the very definition of a barren wasteland, there was no need to make a list. Burr simply threw in every product he regularly used himself. Thirty minutes later, Burr was back and busily filling Hamilton’s shelves with everything he couldn’t understand how Hamilton had managed to live without. The guy didn’t even have coffee. Fast forward fifteen minutes to see the fridge and shelves fully stocked and the kitchen alive with the satisfying sizzle of bacon and eggs.

Burr supposed that if Hamilton hadn’t already been roused by the slamming of the front door and the clanging of pots and pans then the smells of the food on the stove were a sure-fire way to change that. There was not much he could do about that. And sure enough, five minutes later a disheveled Hamilton emerged from the bedroom, sniffing the air and squinting blearily at Burr.

“Burr?”

Burr reached for the spatula and flipped the bacon. It hissed in protest.

“Hamilton.”

The younger man leant against the door frame.

“Whatcha doin’?”

Burr threw him a look. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Hamilton sniffed again with more interest. “Cooking?”

“He’s a genius alright.”

Hamilton smirked. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

Burr shrugged. “Well I didn’t know you possessed the ability to sleep through a hurricane, so it looks like we’ve both learned something today.” Burr motioned to the table where he’d set the dishes. “Grab a plate.”

Hamilton complied, sidling up beside him, plate in hand. “I didn’t realise you were so domesticated, _Aaron._ ”

Burr rolled his eyes, ignoring the fluttering sensation that flared in his stomach in response to Hamilton using his first name.

“It’s just cooking, _Alexander._ It’s more noteworthy that you _don’t_ do it.”

Hamilton laughed.

There was a brief pause as Burr dished out their food.

“Where do you want to eat?”

“Living room has a TV, _soo_ –” Hamilton shot a sideways glance at Burr before edging out of the room.

Burr stood for a second, contemplating the absurdity that was Alexander Hamilton before taking his food and following suit.

Hamilton, it seemed, had already decided on what they were going to watch – House of Cards.

“Don’t worry, you’ll like it.” He asserted with a knowing smirk.

Burr was all set to prove him wrong, but just his luck the kid was right. Ten minutes in and Burr was hooked. One episode and two breakfasts later, Hamilton picked up the remote, shooting a sideways glance at Burr in a silent question; another episode?

Burr shrugged, giving a slight nod. He was loath to admit that Hamilton was correct about how much he enjoyed the show. But then again when did Hamilton ever need verbal confirmation that he was right? The satisfied smirk that he was at least _trying_ to conceal gave him away.

“So, did you sleep alright?” Burr asked in the silence before the next episode played. He gave Hamilton the once over, quickly noting that his color had returned and his eyes were brighter…

Hamilton looked surprised at his question.

“Yeah… Yeah, I did.”

He hesitated, his gaze flicking from Burr back to the TV before pausing the episode that was about to start with a sigh, and turning to Burr.

“Um, thanks for doing that by the way, you know yesterday.” He cleared his throat. “It’s surprisingly easy to forget to do the things you need to do to … you know …”

“Stay alive?” Burr supplied helpfully. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity to rub it in Hamilton’s face just a little bit, it was far too satisfying.

Hamilton grinned. Burr’s focus drifted to his lips, and with the same velocity as an elastic band hitting its mark, his thoughts snapped back to the kiss - or more accurately, multiple _kisses_ they’d shared. He managed to pull himself out of the memory in enough time to see the same distracted expression flitting across Hamilton’s face.

The two just sat there, avoiding eye-contact, both as awkwardly disarmed as the other until –

“I like you.” Hamilton blurted out, his cheeks responding heatedly to the admission. Burr’s stomach did the familiar plummeting thing he was starting to associate with being in Hamilton’s presence, but his mind was curiously blank.

“– Hamilton …” He started, unsure himself of what he was going to say.

But Hamilton wasn’t listening. He’d already risen and begun pacing, raking an agitated hand through his hair. Hair that for the first time this morning, Burr noticed was down. It suited him.

“– no Burr, listen. You’re gonna say that it’s a bad idea, that we’re too similar, or too different or that we’ll end up killing each other, or - or any of another couple hundred lame excuses, but if you just gave it a shot - if you just _tried_ …And I know that you’re you and you don’t like taking chances, but I think this has the chance to be something great and I don’t want to be the one to throw it away because I was too scared to say anything. I’m not throwing away my shot.”

With that, Hamilton stopped trying to wear down the carpet and stood resolutely with his arms folded facing a rather shell-shocked Burr.

_“So?”_

Burr was torn. His mind was hurtling down the two paths this situation could diverge into, both outcomes completely dependent on the response he gave now. On the one hand, he could admit to both Hamilton and himself that he harbored some breadth of feeling for the guy - which would lead to them kissing, could lead to them dating, could lead to them doing _more_ …

_Or,_ or he could lie. Would he really be unhappier if he lied? Or would he be saving himself a lot of avoidable future heartbreak? A relationship with Hamilton would surely present its fair share of difficulties, sure to be a quick burner, unsustainable, _painful_ …

But then his eyes wandered back to Hamilton standing there, red-faced, chest rising and falling, eyes _burning_ , and Burr’s mind stopped trying to write the book on what might become of them, it just stopped, and he was at a sudden loss to think of a single reason why he shouldn’t do what he was about to do. Because this was goddamn _Hamilton_ , stupid, moronic, passionate Hamilton, who always managed to get what he wanted. He was like the tide, rising and rising and rising and falling only to gather enough upward momentum to surge forward again. He was inevitability in human form and who was Burr to stand in the way of the inevitable?

Burr’s stomach was tight and heavy as he stood up and made his way over to Hamilton. He was in two minds about the decision he was about to make; simultaneously convinced that it was the single best and worst idea in the history of ideas. In short: _damned if you do, damned if you don’t._

He was trying not to look too much at Hamilton’s face because it was filled to the brim with poorly concealed anxiety, and he couldn’t look at him if he was going to get what he wanted to say out.

“Hamilton,” he began, his gaze unfocused and fixed on the kid’s electrical heater. It didn’t help much, he still sensed Hamilton’s sharp intake of breath.

“I … I like you too, okay? But neither of us are exactly well suited for relationships. I’m all for giving us a chance, but I’ve thought it through. Have you?”

At his words, Hamilton’s whole body relaxed and his arms fell loosely to his side.

“Burr! You let me think that you were all set to theatrically reject me. You looked like you were a tragic love song away from going soul-searching in the pouring rain.”

Burr frowned, he was hardly that dramatic.

Hamilton chuckled at his expression.

“Dude, come on, I know you think that I just crash headlong into everything without giving anything a second thought, and … yes that’s usually true, but you forget that you’ve given me more than enough thinking time with your whole ‘Avoidance Initiative’.”

Hamilton took a step closer to Burr, who found his eyes glued to the younger man as he cocked his head impishly to the side and continued talking.

“So, after the obligatory three months spent dancing around this, now that we’ve both finally managed to establish that we like each other… What comes next?”

Hamilton’s eyes blazed ever so slightly on the last couple of words and he looked _electric_ … there was no other word for it.

Burr shuddered and cleared his throat. “I guess we could always make out and let future us deal with the specifications?”

They were even closer together now. It was exhilarating and draining and comforting all at the same time. Hamilton reached out, grabbing him by the shirt, responding in short with –

“That sounds good to me…”

– and the two of them were kissing once again, much like before, but somehow better. They maneuvered their way back onto the couch using their peripheral alone and lay sprawled haphazardly over one another. Hamilton, true to form, was testing Burr’s resolve, probing him with his tongue, mapping out the exact points that made Burr moan and returning to them as if determined to commit them to memory. Burr offset this by attempting to keep Hamilton in check whilst waging his own war. He was pinning Hamilton against the sofa cushions, enjoying the way Hamilton squirmed beneath him as he took a break from his mouth and focused all his attention upon his neck.

Ten minutes passed in a whirlwind of frantic motion, and Hamilton’s hand was strategically sliding its way down Burr’s abdomen when the two of them were startled out of their extracurricular activities by the sound of Burr’s ringtone.

Burr groaned, “Hold on a sec.”

He disentangled himself from Hamilton and rolled gracelessly off the sofa onto the floor before righting himself. He hurried into Hamilton’s bedroom and grabbed his phone from the chair. He stood for a second, trying to catch his breath, guessing that Hamilton was doing the same thing in the living room, before glancing at the contact screen and feeling his stomach lurch uneasily. His phone was still ringing, he only had a few more seconds before it went to voicemail. He stared down at the name:

Thomas Jefferson

What the hell did he want? Burr frowned at the screen as, rolling his shoulders and taking a deep breath, he pushed aside his questions for another time and answered the phone.

“Aaron Burr speaking.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't planning on doing another chapter for this story, but I really enjoy living vicariously through the Hamilton/Burr dynamic so here we are! Thanks so much for reading, and for leaving any kudos and comments - they are all greatly appreciated! Also, please feel free to point out any typos or mistakes I've unwittingly left (and for which I apologise for in advance) - my only beta is a sleep deprived Literature student. Such is life.
> 
> Have a nice day!


	3. La grâce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jefferson’s casual reference to La Grâce – a coffee shop they hadn’t visited for so long, almost had Burr hanging up on him and refusing to hear him out. Curiosity, as he was sure Jefferson had intended, was the only thing holding him back.

For a couple of seconds, Burr was met with nothing but a curiously deliberate silence on the other end of the line before Jefferson, as if only just realizing he was on the phone, cleared his throat and abruptly thrust himself into speech.

“Burr,” he began by way of greeting. “I’d ask how you were, but we’re a little too old to play pretend like either of us give a damn.”

And there it was. In so few words Jefferson had managed to assert that he was still the same self-satisfied asshole.

Burr had been hoping that the passing of time – as it does to cliffs, coastlines and other natural monstrosities – would have mellowed Jefferson out a little. Though he’d also harbored internal doubts as to whether there was enough time in the entirety of the universe (in discovered and undiscovered dimensions combined) to stand a chance of even putting a dent in his honest-to-god-complex.

“Hello, Jefferson. Long-time no speak.” Burr replied with as much neutrality as he could muster.

And it had been. Burr and Jefferson had last talked to each other nearing about two and a half years ago, and they hadn’t exactly parted on good terms. Burr didn’t know whether to be surprised or worried that Jefferson had thought it prudent to keep his number. Though what it said that he still had Jefferson’s number saved on his phone, he didn’t quite know.

“You’re probably wondering what I want, so let me cut to the chase. I have an issue –”

Burr felt a spike of irritation. The guy who hadn’t said so much as a word to him in nearing three years reappears out of the blue to ask him for a favor? But he let him continue uninterrupted and was glad of it because what Jefferson said next snagged his attention.

“– concerning a mutual friend of ours. I’d much rather discuss this in person than over the phone so I propose we meet at the usual place.”

Jefferson’s casual reference to _La Grâce_ – a coffee shop they hadn’t visited for so long, almost had Burr hanging up on him and refusing to hear him out. Curiosity, as he was sure Jefferson had intended, was the only thing holding him back.

Burr rolled his eyes.

“Fine. Be there in half an hour, but if you’re even five minutes late I swear I’m leaving.”

Jefferson responded civilly enough even if Burr could practically see his smirk through the phone.

“Sure thing. See ya in thirty-four minutes.”

Burr hung up and cursed loudly. He could hear Hamilton approaching, so he had just enough time to fix his expression into something that hopefully didn’t reflect any of what he was feeling.

Hamilton popped his head around the door. “What’s up? I heard swearing.”

Burr, after clearing his throat, turned around and met Hamilton’s inquisitive expression with feigned nonchalance.

“Nothing. I just have to go and meet with a … a _work-proximity associate_ for a bit,” Burr checked the time on his phone – 10:22, “and then I have a meeting at one.”

He turned and grabbed his coat from the chair.

“Woah, hold up.” Hamilton rushed back in front of him. “A _work-proximity associate?_ So, a friend?”

Burr froze. He hadn’t taken Hamilton as the type to watch _Parks and Recreation_ , although come to think of it – enthusiasm and government work did have Hamilton written all over it.

“No, not a friend. More of an acquaintance.” Burr stated firmly.

Hamilton looked positively jubilant. “When can I meet this work-proximity associate turned acquaintance of yours?”

Rubbing his eyes, Burr moved back into the living room to fetch his shoes with Hamilton trailing behind, desperate for more information.

 _If there’s a god in heaven, never._ Burr thought to himself, pulling them on and shuddering to imagine the calamity that would be Hamilton and Jefferson in the same room.

“I dunno. Someday… Maybe.” Burr was at the front door, he swung an arm through the sleeve of his jacket, pulling it on and opening the door. He hesitated before leaving, wanting to say something but not knowing quite what. Hamilton was standing there looking a little bit put-out.

Burr sighed and walked up to him.

“I’ll call you, okay?” He said, lifting Hamilton’s chin up and giving him a gentle kiss.

When they parted, Burr was pleased to see that Hamilton had regained some of his spark.

 _“Okay?”_ Burr asked again.

Hamilton raised his eyes to meet Burr’s. They were unsettlingly wide and innocent.

Burr frowned, confused and more than a little worried about what was going to come out of Hamilton’s mouth this time.

Hamilton tilted his head to the side. “Maybe _okay_ … will be our _always._ ”

There was a moment’s pause…

And then Hamilton burst out laughing. Burr cocked an amused eyebrow.

“Goodbye Hamilton.” He responded, closing the door on Hamilton’s sniggers and having them follow him down the corridor all the same.

Burr, figuring that it was about a twenty-minute walk from Hamilton’s place to the café, set out on foot. This left him with the perfect opportunity to think about what he was most likely getting himself involved in. He had to admit, it made for a nice change of pace from having work and his not-quite-relationship with Hamilton be his main preoccupation.

Since Burr and Jefferson ran in such vastly different circles these days, it really wasn’t all that difficult to figure out who this ‘mutual friend’ was. Even with Jefferson’s infuriatingly vague phrasing added into the mix, Jefferson had clearly been talking about Madison.

James Madison was, as far as his friends go, a particularly close one of Burr’s and an even closer one of Jefferson’s. Whilst neither Jefferson nor Madison had ever explicitly revealed the exact nature of their relationship, it was clear to anyone with two functioning eyes and a working brain how close the two were. Not that they were particularly affectionate in public or anything, it mostly just came down to how they behaved around each other. The two had chemistry, no one could deny that.

Burr made it to _La Grâce_ with five minutes to spare and, squinting between blocks of black text advertising meals and warm beverages, was shocked to see Jefferson already sitting at one of the corner booths with what looked to be two mugs of hot chocolate on the table in front of him.

For the first time, Burr felt a stab of trepidation. First of all, the guy was never on time for _anything_ – hell, his version of _fashionably late_ began approximately an hour or two after everyone else had given up, called it a day and gone home. And secondly, Thomas Jefferson had never bought him a drink before in his life. He was almost entirely certain that Thomas Jefferson had never bought _anybody_ a drink in his life. Burr honestly didn’t think he had the capacity to even process the notion of doing things for other people, never-mind the drive required to execute them.

And yet here he was. Burr swallowed his nerves as he pulled open the door to the café. The warm air that rushed over him made for a pleasant change from the chilly morning outside.

 _La Grâce_ smelled just as he remembered, a combination of cinnamon, coffee and freshly baked goods. It was the nice kind of busy too, the soothing buzz of conversation wafting in and out from people sitting comfortable distances from each other’s tables was gently soporific. He’d forgotten how much he liked this place. He made a mental note to bring Hamilton here someday.

Jefferson acknowledged him with a nod as he walked in, and didn’t begin speaking until Burr was seated next to him on the deep purple leather couch. The guy looked the same as he had the last time Burr had seen him, barring his hair, which worn down, was slightly longer than he recalled.

A quick glance at the royal red coat slung on the back of one of the chairs facing him was all the indication Burr needed to see that he still had the same penchant for flashy clothes. Jefferson pushed one of the steaming hot chocolates towards Burr, a smirk already playing on his lips.

“Glad you could make it, Burr. I was prepared to give you a five-minute extension on the time you allotted me if you were late, but goddammit, not a _second_ more…”

“That’s very generous of you, but since I’m the one who’s gone to the effort of meeting you here. I’d say you can cool it on the attitude for once.”

Jefferson just grinned. Part of the many reasons Burr didn’t like being in his company was because he always felt like an aged school teacher in the presence of a disruptive kid – a kid with an ego the size of both a North Korean dictator and the province over which he ruled – needless to say, it was a feeling that grated on the nerves.

“Fine, I’ll be good –” (Burr had to refrain from rolling his eyes) “but since we’re already on the topic of _moi_ , I’d like to take a moment to recognize the graciousness in my acceptance of your ridiculous suggestion that I _‘cool it’_ on the grounds of you being equally as snarky as I am.”

This was not how Burr had envisioned this conversation going. He shook his head, thinking about the things he could be doing both _to_ and _with_ Hamilton had he not left.

“No, I’m pretty certain you hold the world record on that front.”

“Hah, well that just proves my point. You’re simply more conservative in your arrogance than I am.”

Burr took a sip of his hot chocolate, trying not to let his rising irritation reign free by imagining placing a well-aimed punch to Jefferson’s jaw. He wasn’t quite that angry yet, but it envisioning it helped ease some of his frustration.

When it came down to it, Burr usually found that people’s outer displays of bravado were more akin to practiced _sleight of hand-esque_ performances designed to draw attention away from their not-so-confident centers, but Thomas Jefferson was something else entirely. He took confidence to a whole other level.

He was one of those horrendous, yet mercifully rare people, whose outlining arrogance was simply the icing on the top of an unnecessarily decadent multi-tiered cake. And much like cake, spend enough time eating up Jefferson’s self-indulgent opinions and you’re bound to come away feeling nauseous.

Burr shrugged. “It’s called _self-awareness._ You’ve probably heard the term once or twice during those occasional moments when you’re _not_ talking.”

He saw Jefferson open his mouth in readiness to counter his statement, but suddenly Burr really wasn’t in the mood.

“Look, I thought you actually had something important in mind when you said you wanted to meet, but if it was only a ploy to rope me into arguing with you then I can think of at least a billion other things I’d rather be doing.”

He made to get up and leave when something curious happened; with the abruptness of someone pulling a plug, Jefferson’s energy; his insufferable nerve and audacity, just… _fizzled_ out.

“Wait –” He slumped back in his seat, staring listlessly ahead, as all traces of his earlier brashness dissolved into something resembling grief and words that Burr never in a million years could have prepared himself to hear:

“James was mugged last night.”

Burr froze. “What –?”

“He’s alive but the bastards really did a number on him. He’s at the hospital … in intensive care. I –”

Jefferson took a shuddering breath and ran an unsteady hand through his hair.

“I don’t know what to do…”

Burr felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him. He shakily sat back down, and having no clue what to say in comfort, wrestled with how best to order the questions that had settled on his chest like weights.

“Shit… Have you talked to him since? Or hasn’t he…?” Burr let his question hang as though the very mention of James being in a coma made it more likely to be true.

“He woke up briefly at one point, but he was in a lot of pain so they upped his morphine and he lost consciousness not long afterwards.” Jefferson looked positively miserable.

“What did the doctor say? Is he going to be okay?”

“They said he came away with a dislocated shoulder, several lacerations and internal bleeding, but that he’ll make a full recovery.”

_Full recovery._

The meaning of these words blossomed in Burr’s mind and he held onto them tightly; their roots his only lifeline.

Jefferson was staring at the counter where a couple of new customers were lining up to buy their first hot drinks of the day. Burr could tell he wasn’t seeing any of it.

“That sounds like good news.” Burr heard himself say.

Jefferson just shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut as if trying to rid himself of a disturbing mental image.

“You didn’t see him, man. He was a mess. I swear if I could get my hands on the assholes that did this to him… I’d tear them apart.”

Burr seconded that. His own brain was firing out similar scenarios.

The thing that burned the worst was that James Madison was a fundamentally good person. He didn’t have any of Jefferson’s flare or Hamilton’s ruthless determination and he didn’t need them: his charm was of the kind that people naturally gravitated to. It was as though his personality readily complemented whoever he was with. It was fascinating to watch. He tempered Jefferson and he drew Burr out of his own head. Out of all the people something like this could have happened to, why _him?_ If Burr was at a loss for words, he could only imagine how Jefferson must be feeling.

“What did the police say?” Burr questioned, wondering if they’d had any luck identifying the assailants from anything James had told them.

Jefferson cleared his throat, “That they don’t have enough to go on.”

“But didn’t James get a good look at any of them?” Burr pressed.

“I don’t know. He only woke up the one time…”

Burr heaved out a long breath. This was a lot to process.

Apparently, Jefferson was thinking the same thing. He looked like he was on the verge of tears. “I should go.” He abruptly stood up and, grabbing his coat, made a bee-line for the exit.

Burr raised his eyebrows in shock. He deliberated for a split second about whether to just let him leave, but ultimately concluded that Jefferson probably shouldn’t be alone right now. This decision practically went against every internal impulse he had, but he knew it was the right one, and so he raced after Jefferson all the same, leaving the two barely-touched hot chocolates to cool pointlessly on the table.

The sky had darkened marginally in the twenty minutes they’d spent in _La Grâce._ Burr flicked his eyes skyward and sensed rain. _Fitting._ Then he was back to scanning the street for a flash of red against the sea of earthier tones – _there!_ Jefferson was already on the other end of the street, about to turn the corner. The guy could really move when he wanted to. Burr sighed, wishing now more than ever that he’d just stayed in bed, but cast aside his gripes and sprinted after him.

His feet pounded the pavement like the opening beats to a song, and as if taking their cue, the first few droplets of rain followed suit, striking the ground in a rhythmic pitter-patter. He rounded the corner, Jefferson’s red coat serving as his homing beacon, red against brown, heart against ribcage, boats against the current.

“Hey! Jefferson!” Burr bellowed over the roar of traffic.

Jefferson turned, his face settling into a deep frown as he spotted Burr, and sped up. He was now pushing past people in his haste. Burr cursed and did the same. His own grief was the only thing stopping him from turning tail because the simple fact was that no matter how much this might suck for him, it sucked so much more for Jefferson. To leave him alone in the state he was in would be catastrophic, not to mention irresponsible. Burr knew him well - he was a creature very much controlled by emotion which at best made him passionate and at worst reckless, and James would disembowel him if anything happened to Jefferson that Burr could’ve prevented.

He was catching up. Jefferson was quick, but Burr was quicker. With a last-ditch spurt of energy, he surged forwards, grabbing him by the shoulders and yanking him to the side of the street. Jefferson whipped around furiously, soaked to the skin and panting heavily from his failed escape attempt.

“Burr! What the hell?!!”

The rain was coming down in buckets now: between that, the buzz of people, and the rumble of traffic, talking was an ordeal.

“If you think I’m leaving you alone you’re insane.” Burr shouted over the din, grabbing him by the arm when Jefferson scowled and turned to walk away.

“Leave it alone. I’m fine.” He snapped, shaking Burr off roughly.

“You’re not fine. You’re a mess. For once in your life be sensible and let me take you home!”

Burr was trying his best to keep his temper in check, but Jefferson had a way of testing it even when he wasn’t currently reeling from a recent personal trauma.

“I’m warning you, Burr. _Lay off._ ” Jefferson growled, angrily wiping away the droplets of rain that were trailing down his face.

He was shaking, though whether from cold or anger, Burr couldn’t tell. Either way, it reinforced Burr’s concern that he was too emotionally charged to be capable of making rational decisions.

He made to leave again only to have Bur pull him back. Jefferson forcibly shoved him away. Burr persisted, and then, in a flash of rage, Jefferson’s fist made rapid contact with his face. _Son of a –_

Pain exploded in his left eye and a dizzying array of lights flared beneath his lid. He stumbled backwards into something cool and solid; a wall, and then there were hands on him and Jefferson’s anxious voice sounding in his ear.

 _“Shit,_ man… I didn’t mean to – _shit..._ ”

Burr opened his eyes, wincing at the raw sting now radiating from half of his face, and regained his balance. Jefferson was in front of him, looking nothing short of stricken. 

_Goddammit. Trust Jefferson not to make this easy._ Burr took a deep breath, repressing the undeniably powerful urge to throttle the guy, and with a forced calm said –

“Are you done?”

To Burr’s intense relief Jefferson deflated, conceding with a small nod.

One short taxi ride later saw them at Burr’s apartment with Jefferson seated demurely on his leather sofa. Both Burr and Jefferson’s coats were hung up on the hook in the hall, dripping all over the floor. He’d deal with that later. For now, he savored the warmth that came with being out of the rain.

As fundamentally odd as it was to have Jefferson in his living room, it was stranger yet to see him without his usual unfaltering haughtiness in place. He was still himself, but it was like watching a cheap knock-off, a watered-down version. The sofa dipped with Burr’s weight as he sat down next to Jefferson.

“Here, drink this.”

Burr handed him a cup of coffee.

He’d gone with decaf because he figured that Jefferson didn’t need the extra boost in the adrenaline department. He’d rooted around in his cupboard until he’d come across the unopened jar he’d bought on a whim a couple of months ago, when he’d been intending to cut down on his caffeine intake. As the plastic seal suggested, this didn’t quite go to plan. Hardly anything ever does. That much was becoming painfully obvious.

Jefferson took it with a muttered, “Thanks.”

Burr checked his phone – 11:30. He’d already made the decision to cancel his meetings today, and had just gotten off the phone five minutes ago after explaining his situation. They’d understood and told him to take all the time he needed. Now Burr could turn his attention to getting Jefferson to talk to him – a momentous task in itself. _He already sorely missed work._

“So… that was eventful…” Burr began somewhat indelicately.

He was unused to being the main driving force behind conversations. Talking was something he only endured if he absolutely had to, or if he was in the presence of someone who was happy to shoulder more than their fair share of it.

Jefferson grimaced. “Yeah…”

He shifted his head towards Burr; a small portion of his old swagger making an appearance.

“I admittedly lost my cool for a second there.”

Burr raised his eyebrows. “One hell of a second.”

“Sorry about your face by the way.”

Jefferson motioned to the purple bruise that was swelling underneath Burr’s eye – “If it’s any consolation I was aiming for your jaw.”

It really wasn’t.

“Don’t worry about it,” Burr muttered begrudgingly. “It’s the second altercation I’ve had in two days. Although the first one I technically started, so…”

Jefferson’s eyes locked onto him. “ _Really?_ Now that’s interesting. So what must a mere mortal do to enrage the anthropomorphic equivalent of stoicism? I only ask because punching you in the face didn’t seem to work. Did he insult your honor?"

“No.”

“Did he take the last milkshake?”

“…No.”

“So he didn’t bring all the boys to the yard?”

“…”

“Did he sing something by the _Red-Hot Chili Peppers?”_

Burr sighed.

“Did he –”

“No. I’ll stop you there. No, he didn’t. If you must know, he tried to get me to talk about my feelings.”

Jefferson let out a short bark of laughter. “Well, I’d say brave guy, but knowing how stubborn you can be, persistent is probably the better word.”

Burr frowned, but before he could retort, his phone vibrated loudly in his hand. He unlocked it, his stomach sinking as he scanned a text message that, in the span of two seconds, stressed him out far more than the events of past two days combined –

 _Yo, don’t know if you’re home, but I’m on my way over. So, here’s hoping you’re there to let me in._ \- H

Burr could have screamed. It’s like Hamilton had a sixth sense, but instead of it being something useful like ‘limitless access to the spirit world’, or ‘mind reading’, his was the tendency to pinpoint and subsequently _do_ the exact worst thing possible in any given moment.

He stared bemusedly at his phone. So, it looks like Hamilton and Jefferson were going to meet earlier than he’d planned…

Or, well, intentionally _not_ planned.

_At all._

_Fantastic._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter down. I have no idea how many more to go. I'm not much of a planner I'll tell you that much. All I know is that Hamilton will feature heavily in the next chapter. At least I think he will. I dunno, things tend to go awry when I actually start writing which is why I don't plan 
> 
> Anyhoo, thanks for reading, and thanks to all those who have left kudos and comments! As always, feel free to let me know what you think - it fuels me. 
> 
> Bye! :D


	4. In the Eye of a Hurricane

Jefferson quirked an eyebrow at Burr who was still staring down at his phone wishing he could rewind time back to before his outlandish friends’ respective dramas barged their way into his life.

Of course, it was with a blow he then remembered the reason Jefferson was currently in his apartment in the first place and felt horribly guilty. All in all, the heady emotional infusion that Burr had swishing around inside only made him more annoyed that Hamilton couldn’t just stay put.

“So…” Jefferson drawled, using both hands to muss up his hair into a state of perfect dishevelment. “was that the ruthless soul who got you to open up?”

Burr shot him a look that he hoped equally expressed his awareness of Jefferson’s attempt to distract him from their talk, and his determinedness to stop that from happening.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. We will be discussing that little meltdown you had even if it’s five hours from now when Hamilton finally gets bored and scampers off to annoy someone else.”

Jefferson just rolled his eyes, but surprisingly enough didn’t remark on it. Burr wondered when exactly he’d become the voice of parental reason for the people around him. Had it happened overnight? It sure seemed like it.

“So, you like this…Hamilton?”

Jefferson had an infantile smirk plastered on his face and was eyeing Burr mischievously.

Burr cocked an eyebrow. “None of your business.”

“Oh, don’t be like that, Burr. Everyone gets crushes now and again. Though it’s been a while for you, has it not?”

Jefferson’s smirk was inching towards grin territory. Burr didn’t like where this was going.

“I guess.” Burr confirmed tightly.

“Huh. Now I’m no mathematician, but this Hamilton fling significantly raises your stats. Ugh lemme see…”

Jefferson screwed up his face under the pretense of partaking in laborious counting.

“…there was cardigan guy back in college, there was that super boring nerd who studied botany...”

“Medicine. He studied medicine.”

Jefferson affirmed with a blasé wave of the hand.

“That’s what I said. Anyway, then you wasted a few months letting that intern sniff around you like a lost puppy, until you hit a refreshing break in the monotony with the last one. That guy, phew, he got both the brains and the booty. I’ll tell you I wouldn’t mind breakin’ myself off a piece of that chocolate…”

Burr stared with a deadpan expression. Jefferson winked.

“My point being that with Hamilton you’re up to five.”

Burr raised his eyebrows. “And?”

Jefferson rolled his eyes.

“And? Come now Burr, don’t be dense. This is a safe space. Celebration is in order.”

Burr had absolutely no clue where Jefferson was going with this.

“Umm… congratulations?” He ventured, frowning.

Jefferson looked at him the way a pet-owner might look at their cat after watching it charge headfirst into a glass partition. He was all humour and exasperation as he exhaled condescendingly, clearly enjoying Burr’s total lack of recall.

“The bet?”

He sighed indulgently again at Burr’s nonplussed expression.

“You know Burr, perhaps it’s time for you to start writing little reminders down on post-its to help you remember to lock the door at night and feed your eleven cats. Stuff like that.”

Burr rolled his eyes.

“For the last time, I had _two_ cats and I re-homed them months ago. For Christ’s sake, will you tell me what you’re rambling on about already?”

“Really Burr.”

Jefferson shook his head smugly.

“I made a bet that at the rate you were going you would be at least forty-eight before you managed to score five people. You agreed, Lafayette said twenty-nine, Hercules thought forty-five, and … and Madison said … he said thirty-two. You seriously don’t remember?”

Burr raised his eyes to his ceiling, less in silent prayer to a higher power and more in search of an improbable escape hatch.

“Jefferson, why would I bet against myself?”

Jefferson paused to think for a quick second before shrugging and eyeing Burr with a smirk.

“Huh, maybe you weren’t there after all.”

There was a slight pause before Burr’s eyebrows furrowed.

“48 is an incredibly specific age.”

“Yeah, call it a gut feeling.”

It took ten more minutes before a knock sounded on the apartment door.

(

)

Burr heaved a heavy sigh, pausing in the middle of relocating his and Jefferson’s sopping wet coats to above the bathtub where they could continue to drip in peace without ruining his precious hardwood floors.

He detected a slight, yet unmistakable bustle of movement coming from the living room where he’d left Jefferson. It was with dull acceptance that he realized that, yes, of course Jefferson would converge upon Hamilton like a flock of seagulls upon a crowd of tourists. There was a minuscule rattle closely shadowed by the click of a lock, before the door gave way to muffled voices that chipped away at the silence in much the same way a woodpecker might peck a tree, slowly, then all at once.

Burr was extremely inclined to spend the rest of his days hovering in the bathroom, but since he couldn’t quite pinpoint the precise tone coming from his two eccentric guests, he decided it was more prudent to be present in the likely event he had to resume his role as peacekeeper.

So, he inched his way towards the room, mirroring the dread with which a condemned man might approach the gallows. Only when he came into the light, he saw that Hamilton and Jefferson were not fighting. Not even close. The two men were stood facing one another in the middle of the room. Hamilton’s expression was bright and open, his body language, like Jefferson’s, was relaxed in a way that signaled he was at ease. There was nothing in the atmosphere that hinted at hostility. In fact, it was only as soon as Hamilton lay his eyes on Burr that a flash of shock rose sharply to the surface. Jefferson’s own easy smile slipped away and he paled as he glanced at Hamilton and then again at Burr.

“What happened to your face?” Hamilton stepped closer to him, his eyebrows raised in concern, confusion and worry overwriting his previous contentment.

Burr raised a hand to his cheekbone. Between the heat of the fight, the relief of getting Jefferson home safe and the panic of Hamilton and Jefferson’s sudden and inevitable introduction, he’d forgotten all about forming a coherent, believable excuse for the huge bruise that had had copious amounts of time to form.

Jefferson’s eyes felt as if they were glued to him, and without truly meaning to, his own eyes locked tellingly on Jefferson. If Hamilton had been blind to Jefferson’s palpable unease before, now that Burr had rather literally shone a spotlight on it, it didn’t take him long to put two and two together.

Hamilton’s eyes wielded suspicion like a knife as they cut loose from Burr to Jefferson then back to Burr who watched the doubt melt away into heady realization.

He turned back to Jefferson with an acidic glare.

“What the hell did you do?” Hamilton accused sharply.

Jefferson glared back with equal intensity, his arms folded in a defensive shield around himself.

“It was an accident.”

Hamilton bristled at Jefferson’s brusque tone, and Burr, not wanting to spend his free time in an emergency room, decided now was a good time to intervene because Hamilton clearly wanted nothing more than to tear into Jefferson, and Burr wasn’t sure what method he intended to use; words or fists. It was likely that he didn’t have the discipline to choose just one.

“Hamilton. Listen, it’s more complicated than you think.”

Hamilton snorted derisively and his eyes didn’t move from Jefferson’s as he retorted.

“He punched you. Seems pretty simple to me.”

Jefferson’s jaw clenched. Burr eyed him anxiously, not knowing what to say.

“No, it isn’t. Jefferson received some bad news yesterday about… I tried to get him to talk and things got out of hand. It was both our faults.”

Hamilton faltered. He was still mutinous, still sending daggers at Jefferson, but Burr could tell most of his concentration was reluctantly focused on him now.

A pause.

“What news?” Hamilton probed, despite himself.

Burr looked at Jefferson for confirmation but Jefferson’s eyes fell away from his as swiftly as if they’d lost their grip.

Hamilton frowned again, but not from anger as much as from the uncomfortable prickle of uncertainty.

Burr exhaled, running a haggard hand over his head.

“James Madison was mugged last night. He’s in the hospital.”

Jefferson flinched.

Hamilton’s head twitched in half-recognition of the name.

“James Madison… Isn’t he… Oh.”

A longer silence followed during which Hamilton took an uneasy step back, resulting in him either purposely or unintentionally angling himself so that Burr could see his face.

Burr noted the diagonal set of Hamilton’s mouth and it dawned on him that this was the first time he’d seen Hamilton unsure. He was almost tempted to snap a photo.

Jefferson was in no better shape. He was stood stock still, staring at the floor, his shoulders were stiff and drawn.

“Jefferson?” Burr moved closer to the man and carefully extended an arm around him, leading him gently to the sofa.

As Hamilton watched the exchange, his eyebrows knitted together and his mouth became a taut rope pulled tight.

“Burr, I –” He trailed off miserably, fidgeting with the sleeves of his slightly-too-big shirt.

Burr threw him a small sympathetic smile. “You didn’t know.”

Hamilton gave a tiny nod in response, but his eyes never left Jefferson’s catatonic state and his guilty expression didn’t falter.

“Jefferson?” Burr tried again. “Did you want me to take you home?”

After a moment, Jefferson closed his eyes and shifted his head to the side ever so slightly, which Burr took to mean no.

“It’s totally fine if you want to stay here, but did you want us to give you some privacy?”

This time, Jefferson gave the slightest of nods before glancing up at Burr with an apologetic grimace.

Burr shook his head. “No, hey, that’s fine. Listen, whatever you need I’ll be out here, so just give me a shout.”

Jefferson made a quiet noise of affirmation and sank back despondently into the sofa cushions, closing his eyes again. Burr wondered what memory he was reliving.

Signalling Hamilton with a swift head motion, he stood up and they moved into the kitchen. Burr pulled the door shut with a soft thud behind them.

Hamilton let out a huge breath and strode past Burr. At first, he stood motionless facing the window but after a couple seconds of inactivity, he couldn’t take another and restlessly flew around to face Burr.

He looked positively stricken, more so than he had in front of Jefferson. His eyes were as wide as coins, and he was wringing his hands anxiously.

“Woah, Hamilton. Calm down, it’s okay.” Burr assured him, taken aback.

He placed both hands on Hamilton’s shoulders and tried to get him to look him in the eye.

But Hamilton resisted. His eyes wandered past Burr, roaming over the kitchen walls as if there were words that only he could see written on them. When he spoke, his voice was equal parts tension and unhappiness coiled together by an outer layer of agitation. It was clear that he was in the grips of his thoughts and that reason wouldn’t get through to him right now.

“Shit, Burr, I really didn’t mean to – I should’ve just kept my mouth shut, I don’t know why I always… I get so carried away… I don’t always think –”

Burr observed him sadly for a second and then pulled him into a tight hug. Hamilton was unresponsive for no more than a split second, before he melted fully into the embrace.

“You did what you thought was right.” Burr muttered against his neck.

Burr felt the tickle of hair brush his skin as Hamilton shook his head in disparagement. He readied himself for one of Hamilton’s momentous soliloquies.

“I always say the wrong thing, Burr. I don’t mean to, but I do… and now your friend hates me and if he hates me then what happens if I say the wrong thing in front of all your friends who also start to hate me and then you realise that this isn’t what you want and you start to hate me and…”

Hamilton trailed off suddenly to bury his head further into Burr’s chest in the hopes of blotting out his treacherous thoughts.

Now it was Burr’s turn to shake his head. He thought back to how Hamilton had confronted Jefferson, how angry he’d been at the prospect of him hurting Burr and felt a curious warmth settle like pleasant pins and needles in the pit of his stomach.

“Hamilton, you’re being ridiculous –”

Hamilton lifted his head up with a wounded look in his eyes that reminded Burr very much of a kicked puppy. Burr chuckled.

“Hear me out. I said that because even if you somehow got every single person I know to actually despise you, it would literally still take someone as determined and frankly irksome as you to ever even come close to convincing me not to date you.”

He felt Hamilton grin against him which encouraged a similar smile of his own.

“And you seriously overestimate the amount of friends I have.”

Hamilton released an amused puff of air against him and tightened his embrace.

Hamilton was a warm and comforting pressure against his chest and it was difficult not to act on the faint stir of arousal incited by having him so close, but now wasn’t the right time so Burr ignored the pull.

It had been a tough day and Burr was reluctant to admit to himself that he needed this as much - if not more - than Hamilton did. It was a couple minutes before they broke apart.

Once they separated, Hamilton pulled back a little more, studying Burr in a way that, to Burr at least, was eerily reminiscent of past days spent cramming for his mid-terms.

Burr watched as Hamilton’s eyes grazed over the bruise under his eye. The corner of Hamilton’s mouth turned up in a sympathetic grimace.

“Are you okay? Today must have been hard on you too. Are you and Madison close?”

Burr shrugged, gazing down at the black-and-white tiled floor. He could feel the clock on the wall ticking oppressively, devoutly judging his silence just as much as the words he elected to fill it with.

“We used to be.”

Hamilton’s eyebrows formed a subtle crease and one quick glance was all Burr needed to tell he was bursting to the seams with questions. In the end, however, he settled for an understanding nod followed by just the one.

“Are you going to visit him?”

Burr shrugged again and then his eyes found Hamilton’s. “If I did, would you come with me?”

Hamilton’s mouth fell open in non-verbal surprise, before his brain kicked into gear and his words caught up a second later.

“Yeah, totally, I mean if that’s what you need.”

Burr smiled. Then a question of his own popped into his head.

“What made you suddenly decide to come over anyway?”

Hamilton immediately began fiddling with his sleeve, a bashful smirk playing on his lips.

“You’ll think I’m an idiot.”

Burr grinned, enjoying Hamilton’s uncharacteristic discomfort.

“Oh well, you have to tell me now.”

“It’s nothing dramatic. I just wanted to see you.”

He resolutely met Burr’s gaze with a deliberate forcefulness, almost as if daring him to laugh.

Burr didn’t laugh. “Oh.”

Hamilton tilted his head, frowning.

“ _Oh_ as in ‘oh, that’s good’? Or _oh_ as in ‘oh no’?”

Burr grinned mischievously.

“Oh no. Definitely as in ‘oh that’s good’.”

“That was cruel.”

Hamilton moved closer to him and as he did, Burr noticed for the first time the warm orange light of the sunset emanating from the window behind him. It gently brushed atop strands of Hamilton’s dark hair, softening and emboldening it, loaning it the color of rich honey.

But as pretty as the sky was right now, the feel of Hamilton’s mouth pressed on his was irrefutably better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, this chapter is a fluff-fest alright. I really didn't intend for this to happen, it just... did :P
> 
> Hope you enjoyed. As always, a big thanks to everyone who reads and an extra special (and blissfully human contactless) thanks to all those who comment and like this ... kudo this ... g-give kudos ... Am I getting the lingo right? I do try
> 
> So yeah see you all in approximately six months with the next sporadically scheduled update

**Author's Note:**

> You made it! Thanks for reading guys! I hope you had as much fun reading as I did writing it. Kind of, I mean objectively we all know that reading is easier than writing. I actually got kinda frustrated writing some parts of this...Now I've used the word writing too much. 
> 
> Writing.
> 
> (Thanks again. Please let me know what you think!)
> 
> P.S - I've never actually used this website before, so the layout of this story may be slightly horrific to begin with. Bear with me. I really have no idea what I'm doing - I cannot stress that enough.


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